


It's time to try defying gravity

by Pepperish



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/M, I have a very vague understanding of the use of additional tags, It has a bit of violence, The more the show break them up the more I'll write them lovingly, This is an ode to my love to the Blake sibs, Urban Fantasy, Witches, but not to canonical levels, so if you watch the show you should be fine, sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:39:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepperish/pseuds/Pepperish
Summary: The day his mother dies, Bellamy Blake discovers his little sister is a witch.It’s not that he didn’t know that there was something different – special – about Octavia before. Her cuts and bruises would heal too fast, her pleadings were always a little bit too convincing and sometimes, when she got really mad, Bellamy could swear he could hear thunder roaring in the distance. But the day Aurora Blake dies Octavia screams and every glass window pane in their rusty old house shatters with the force of her pain.That’s when Bellamy knows they have to move.That’s when Bellamy knows they have to find a coven.(Or: Urban Fantasy/Witches!AU where Clarke's the head of the Sky Crew Coven and Octavia thinks she doesn't need it, Bellamy's just being a dork and overthinking this - as always.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The summary really says it all. I've been trying to write it for AGES - the first few scenes have been sitting on my computer for almost a year now - and I can barely believe it's finally done.
> 
> So here it goes. I'm not very good with magic and I rarely venture into adventure/action settings, but this has a little bit of it and if it sucks, I'm sorry in advance. Feel free to tell me all about it in the comments. I'll be waiting eagerly.
> 
> I hope you guys have a good time reading it!
> 
> Yes, the title is from Wicked, as you probably noticed.

 The day his mother dies, Bellamy Blake discovers his little sister is a witch.

 It’s not that he didn’t know that there was something different – _special_ – about Octavia before. Her cuts and bruises would heal too fast, her pleadings were always a little bit too convincing and, sometimes, when she got really mad, Bellamy could swear he could hear thunder roaring in the distance. But the day Aurora Blake dies Octavia screams and every glass window pane in their rusty old house shatters with the force of her pain.

 That’s when Bellamy knows they have to move.

 That’s when Bellamy knows they have to find a coven.

 

 

 When he discovered he’d have to find a coven for Octavia, Bellamy admits he had no idea what to expect.

 Covens are things one only hears about in fairytales and old legends. They’re supposed to be dark, grimy places, full of women dressed in black, with pointy hats and pointier noses.

 The three-store brick construction Bellamy eventually found was absolutely nothing like that. The front door was bright yellow and he could see colorful wildflowers and some herbs stocking the windowsills of every single visible window.

 It was disconcerting, really.

“Excuse me, is this –” Bellamy checks the small piece of paper with his scribbles “the Sky Crew?”

 The woman in front of him, no older than twenty, with honey skin and eyes sharp as daggers, barely lifts an eyebrow.

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Bellamy Blake and this is my sister, Octavia.” Octavia doesn’t smile, choosing to mimic the older girl’s expression instead, and Bellamy represses the urge to sigh. “We called, I’ve, huh, spoken to Harper?”

“Oh, right, that’s you. Clarke’s waiting.” The girl makes no mention to invite them in, simply turns on her heels and heads back inside. It’s not the encouraging first impression Bellamy was hoping for, but she leaves the door open and he decides it’s too fucking cold to wait outside anyway. It’s not like he and his sister care all that much about manners, they can show themselves in.

“Friendly,” Octavia remarks, dry. Bellamy nods, but doesn’t say a thing. The younger girl presses on, “Seriously, Bell, what we are doing here? I don’t need a coven. I’ve been fine my whole life without one.”             

“Not now, Octavia.”

“But –”

 Before she can say anything else, a blonde, short girl comes to greet them. Her lips are curved slightly upwards, which might be an improvement, judging from the irritable disposition of the previous girl, but her eyes are ice-cold so it’s hard to say.

 Bellamy can’t help but wonder if every witch is actually drop-dead gorgeous or if this is just his luck.

“Hello there, I’m sorry about my friend,” she makes a vague gesture with her hand in the direction the Latina went, “Raven doesn’t really like strangers. I’m Clarke, by the way. You’re the Blake siblings, right?”

“You have a witch named _Raven_? Is this a TV prank?” Octavia asks with a slight snort. Bellamy’s about to step on her foot, but Clarke looks more amused than annoyed. He lets it slide and tries to make amends for his baby sister:

“That’d be us, nice to meet you.” Bellamy says, and nudges Octavia’s shoulder until she at least tips her head.

“Come on in, I’ve got tea waiting.”

 They follow Clarke into the brightly sunlit kitchen where, true to her word, she has a kettle on the oven. The sweet smell of berries fills their noses and immediately Bellamy can feel his and Octavia’s shoulders relaxing.

“So, what brings you here?”

“Huh, this is very weird to say out loud.” He hesitates.

“This dork seems to think I need a coven, since we discovered I’m a witch or something,” Octavia says in his stead, sharp. Bellamy gauges Clarke’s reaction – there’s a very strong part of him that still believes she’ll think they’re crazy and throw them out –, but her expression remains placid. “I disagree.”

“You don’t want a coven, then?”

“I don’t need one.” Octavia says, petulantly.

“O,” Bellamy says, warningly, but his sister merely looks at him haughtily, “we want them to like you, remember?”

“That’s ok. That’s not an unusual reaction, to be honest.” Clarke actually fucking _levitates_ the tea cups, guiding the siblings until they all sit around the small yellow table. The blonde girl reclines on her chair before continuing, “But it’s nice what we have. It’s good to have your sisters close.”

 Bellamy can practically _feel_ Octavia’s contradiction coming, so he steps in.

“I figured, yeah, it’s not like I know the first thing about witches. I was actually expecting hats. And maybe a few cauldrons.”

 Clarke actually snorts at that.

“The cauldrons are upstairs.”

 He ducks his head to hide a grin and Octavia rolls her eyes.

“Ok, Octavia, why don’t you tell me how you discovered you’re a witch?”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Octavia smiles, but it’s more like she’s baring her fangs than trying to be friendly. Clarke chuckles. “Why don’t you tell me how you discovered you were a witch?”

“I always knew I was a witch,” Clarke says, easily, “my mother is the head of the northern coven.”

“And you left to start a new coven?” Bellamy asks. “Is that a thing every witch does?”

“Not really. My mom and I don’t agree very often. It’s better this way, we do good on holidays.” She smiles, a bit stiff, like she doesn’t do that very often. “Basically we meet twice a year for Easter and Halloween and pretend we’re nor virtual strangers the rest of the year.”

“Is Halloween, like, a serious holiday?” Octavia asks, cocking an eyebrow, looking amused for the first time since they arrived.

“No, but I’m not spending thanksgiving or Christmas away from my coven, so…” Clarke shrugs. “Do you have questions?”

 Bellamy sees Octavia hesitate and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. He knows under her façade and bravado, as convincing as those can be, she was just as confused as he was about this whole mess.

 They’re orphans and now, on top of dealing with child service and healing, they have to worry about witchcraft. It’s not something they could have prepared for, honestly.

“I may,” Octavia says slowly, “I mean, I don’t know how any of this works. Can we do any type of – magic? Are there specific powers, spells? Is there a crash course I can take?”

“It’s a bit like school, actually – and before you ask, _no,_ not Hogwarts, unfortunately. Technically, sure, we can learn anything, but we often have individual abilities or are drawn to some aspects of magic. Take Raven, for example, she can bend metal and work wires with her bare hands and build anything out of scrap. She’s the only one we ever found with this gift,” Clarke smiles, fond, “We have a witch here, Harper – you guys spoken to her on the phone, right? --, who can make you feel better and ease your pain with the touch of her fingertips.”

 Clarke seems to be studying Octavia as she speaks, “I once knew a girl who could command others with her voice alone, she never had to say anything twice. Every witch is different. The rest are spells and potions you can learn. We can teach you here, if you’re interested.”

“Do you guys have any family? I know you have your mom, but… The others.”

“O—”

“No, Bell, this is important to me.” Octavia’s voice is fierce and her green eyes turn steely gray for a split second. “I want to know.”

“You can’t keep yourself from something because of me.” It’s painful to grit the words out, but Bellamy quenches it. This is about Octavia and what’s best for her. The girl only snorts.

“Watch me, big brother.”

 Clarke’s observing them, a small smile playing on her lips. She wets her lips before giving an answer:

(Bellamy feels a tad like he’s naked under her scrutiny and it makes all the hair in his arms stand on end)

“Yes, some of us have families. We all opted to be here, though. It’s so much easier to be with someone who understands. Not all of the families have been accepting, you know? You’re one of the lucky ones, Octavia.”

“I know,” the way Octavia says it, firm and sure, like it’s so obvious she can barely believe someone has to actually say it. It makes Bellamy’s chest swell with affection.

“You can do whatever you like, just know you’ll always be welcome here.”

“Thanks,” it’s the first time Octavia’s smile seems genuine. “I’d like to learn more about this, but I’m not leaving my brother.”

“You don’t have to,” Clarke’s eyes flicker to Bellamy’s, “we could use a mascot.”

 Octavia laughs at that, the sound of bells chiming in the wind, butterfly wings flapping and stars shining, and Bellamy finds himself smiling too.

“I thought witches had bats for pets.”

“You’d be a cute bat, don’t you think?” Her eyes twinkle, bright and blue, and Octavia is still grinning.

 Something inside his gut tells him this is right the way it should be.

 

 

 The money Bellamy makes between his three odd jobs isn’t enough to pay for the rent of their old house. Besides, they rarely need the three bedrooms and scorching pain of seeing that place without their mother brightening it, so they decide to move.

 The Sky Crew house is on a nicer part of Boston, somewhere he _really_ can’t afford, but Bellamy manages to find a place a few blocks down, tiny, but not too shabby, and Octavia convinces the owner to lower the rent with large eyes and pouty lips that Bellamy’s now one hundred percent sure are _actually_ magical.

“I’ll live here with you,” she says, a huge smile on her lips as she sits on the countertop of the small kitchen, legs swinging, “and I can easily go to the Sky Crew to learn witchy business.”

“Witchy business?” Bellamy asks, lifting one eyebrow and grinning, “is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

“Shut up, Bell.” Octavia rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

 She doesn’t want to leave him. It’s like the whole world was lifted from his shoulders – even if he still has exhausting hours and too much responsibility for a twenty two year old. He flicks her nose, all easy affection, and her beam is all but palpable.

 Octavia seems happy. It’s more than enough for him.

 

 

 The one thing Bellamy would never expect when he found out Octavia’s a witch was that his life would piece itself in such a way he’d have the most stable _routine_ he ever had, but that’s exactly what happens.

 Maybe it’s not the most ordinary routine out there, but life has never been ordinary for the Blakes anyway.

 Octavia still goes to school because that’s one thing Bellamy’s adamant about,

“I don’t care if you choose to live the rest of your life reading people’s palms,” he glared at her through narrowed eyes, “you’ll do so with a degree on your pocket, got it?”

 Octavia huffed, but Clarke was there and her smooth tone was somewhat less infuriating than his brother-bear attitude.

“Your brother is right, even witches are subjected to capitalism.”

 So the teen divides her time between her senior classes at the local high school and home lessons at the Sky Crew, and sometimes, he’d come home from work and find eight girls piled up on his living room, pizza boxes everywhere and 80’s movies playing on their ancient TV on the background.

“Don’t you have a home?” He asks grouchily when he runs into Raven eating a bowl of blueberries he does not remember buying. “Seriously, it’s like six am.”

“Are you always this grumpy in the mornings?” She asks, amused grin in place. Raven’s still all cutting edges and brutal comebacks, definitely the most intelligent person in every room she walks into, but Bellamy discovered that he, in fact, like her better than most people.

 Even with the attitude.

 Or maybe even _because_ of the attitude. He’s an asshole, all his friends were too. It’s the kind of thing he does.

“Yes!” Clarke and Octavia yell from the kitchen and he gives up on whatever he was intending to eat and goes to the shower instead.

 

 

“Can we please go back to Orphan Black now?” Raven whines from the floor.

“Shut up, this is interesting. Some culture might do you some good, Reyes.” Bellamy throws popcorn at her from his place on the couch. Octavia throws a fistful at his face just because she can and both she and Clarke laugh. Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind much.

“I’m plenty cultured, Blake, and a hell lot smarter than you.”

“We know Rae, your brain’s all kinds of awesome.” Clarke, whose legs are tossed over Bellamy’s lap says.

“Damn right it is,” the Latina girl winks at Clarke and gets up, “if we’re going to keep watching bloody history channel I might as well get us some fuel. We might even turn it into a game. Every time Bellamy thinks something dull is super-interesting we sip, every time he corrects an obscure fact the actual historian there got wrong, we down a full shot.”

“We’ll be drunk in less than ten minutes!” Octavia interjects and Bellamy glares at her, “I’m definitely game.”

 Octavia goes up after the older girl and Bellamy glares at Clarke.

“Your witches are turning my baby sister into an alcoholic. She’s underage, you know?”

“Better learn at home than on the streets, or some shit like that,” Clarke says sagely, “don’t worry brother bear, Raven won’t give O nothing stronger than a beer.”

“Yeah, _so_ reassuring,” Bellamy scolds, but he’s smiling. Clarke kicks his ribs lightly and he pinches her calf.

“We’re going to take care of her now too, you know,” She says, all trace of mockery gone, “You’re not alone anymore. Octavia’s ours too.”

 They stay in silence because Bellamy can’t really get anything past the lump on his throat. She seems happy to simply snuggle against the cushions and watch the tv.

“Ok, so,” Raven starts, plopping herself against the couch again, cold beer against her lips, Octavia tucked on her side “what else is on our schedule to learn about Mesopotamia today?”

 And Bellamy thinks he might have stumbled upon having a family again, after all.

 

 

“Just eat it,” Bellamy insists, waving his forkful of eggs front of Clarke’s face. The girl in question glares at him harder.

“I said no! Your egg is hardly boiled, how can _anyone_ eat yolk like this? Ew!”

“Eat it, you’ll like it. I know you will.”

“Bellamy, stop waving your fucking fork in my face!”

“Just try it out for God’s sake –”

“Dear God, shut up! How are you so loud in this ungodly hour?” Harper complains, eyes barely open from her place, the second mug of black coffee sitting between her fingers.

“It’s all the sexual tension,” Raven muses, eyes twinkling with amusement, “It’s keeping them awake, if you know what I mean.”

“Oi, that’s my brother you’re talking about. Let’s just not.”

“Hey, Clarke, your younger sis is going to be a pain in the ass.” Raven sasses.

 Both Bellamy and Clarke raise an eyebrow at the same time, fixing the brunette with matching unimpressed glares.

“Ok, I’m taking this breakfast to my room. This is too much domesticity for me. Call me again when you’re married.”

 

 

 The thing with happiness is that, even when you _think_ you’re always expecting it to be taken away, you really aren’t.

  So this is how it goes:

 The witches of Sky Crew live at Bellamy’s place almost as much as the Coven House. Clarke and Raven, in particular, seem to be always around, singing in the shower, napping on the couch, reading in the windowsill, legs dangling outside. Not that it bothers Bellamy – much on the contrary, to be honest. Raven’s a badass and Clarke’s – well, Clarke is Clarke, which is enough to anyone that’s ever met her.

 It’s good. He likes it.

 Which is why, of course, something had to go horribly wrong.

 In hindsight, Bellamy could probably pinpoint the moment everything started to go downhill. But at the time, it just didn’t occur to him that _that_ , specifically, was how his new life crashed and burned.

 It started with a boy named Atom.

 That Octavia was hiding something, Bellamy knew. That it was a boy, he’d bet money. It was always a bad spot for him to be – somewhere between parent and brother -, always worried but not wanting to be a sexist jerk. He hated it.

 At first it was the little things. Octavia was always a good half-hour late after class. She’d stop talking whenever he came into the room and change the subject so unsubtly he barely even rolled his eyes anymore. Typical fifteen-year old behavior, Bellamy knew, he didn’t live under a rock.

 But then he found her and a boy in her room one night when she was supposed to be studying for a test, his hand under her shirt, her actual fucking _cauldron_ barely hidden under a pile of t-shirts, and Bellamy blew a fuse.

 It was not _only_ the fact that his little sister was in her room with a boy feeling her up – although it was an image Bellamy wanted to erase from his brain with bleach – or that she lied to him and went behind his back. It was also the fact that the mere possibility of someone finding out Octavia’s secret made his stomach lurch like crazy.

 Clarke warned them about it. No one can know. It isn’t safe, God knows what freaks and scientists alike would do if they ever got their hands on one of them. There are stories about this, blood draining, shock treatments, experiments of various kinds that seem a hell lot more like torture to him.

 So he did a lot of screaming and kicked the boy out with so many colorful threats that kid would only want to feel up a girl again after he went to bloody college and Octavia shut all the doors of the house with her rage and shocked him when he touched the door knob.

 Then, she ran.

 

 

“You’re a jackass”

“Not now, Raven,” Clarke breezed past the other girl, mouth set in a grim line that did nothing to improve Bellamy’s restless nervousness. She turned to him. “Explain.”

 He cocked an eyebrow, his nerves quickly flaring up as anger.

“Since when do I take orders from you, princess?”

“Since you have an angry, untrained witch on the run and I’m the only one that can actually help.” Bellamy cringed internally, but his mouth only curved a bitter smirk.

“Witch almighty,” he snarked, but then all the bravado seemed to drop out of his face and he sighed, pressing the heel of his hands against his eyes, “I got up to Octavia’s room, she was with this kid, Atom, with his fucking hand under her –”

“See?” Raven asks, coming back from the kitchen and throwing herself on the couch, “that’s what I meant with jackass. Also, you’re out of apples.”

“I know, ok? But it wasn’t like that!”

“You did not lose your temper because your sister was fooling around with a boy?” Clarke asks, skeptical. “C’mon, Bellamy.”

“Not only _because_ of that,” he throws his hands up, “they were in her room, Clarke. Her fucking cauldron a few feet away and a giant book about potions behind her head. I know I shouldn’t have freaked out, but I fucking did.”

“Ok, calm down.” Clarke puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, we’re going to find her. I know you were worried.”

“Bellamy –”

“Raven, I get it, I’m a jackass.”

“Yeah, that too, but I think I just found Octavia.”

“What --?”

 They both turn to her, only to find Raven’s eyes glued to the television, where the reporter was just finishing the news of a sudden storm coming from the shore and a lightning bolt setting a house on fire.

“Fuck,” Bellamy and Clarke breathed at the same time.

 

 

 When Bellamy wraps his arms around Octavia, whose slender shoulders are shaking with her sobs, she smothers her face against his chest and let herself cry. Maybe it shouldn’t make Bellamy’s world feel like it’s collapsing unto itself, but it does.

“I didn’t mean to—I never – Bell, I swear!” She blabbers on, never getting to the end of her sentences.

“Shh, it’s gonna be ok.”

“But I just –”

 He pushes her away just far enough he could cup her damp cheeks in his hand and stare Octavia in the eyes.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise, O. It’s going to be ok.”

 Clarke is talking to a few people behind them, checking if anyone saw something they shouldn’t, while Raven discreetly circled to the back of the house to make sure the wires look like they’ve been burnt by a regular lightning bolt.

 Bellamy almost believes his own words.

 But the look on Atom’s face is too terrified, so Bellamy feels sort of terrified himself.

 

 

 As soon as all four of them are back to the apartment, Octavia flees to her room, apparently reminded that she’s still furious, Raven gets a beer from the fridge and says she’ll call the girls back at the coven and Clarke sits on the couch with Bellamy.

 They stay in silence for a long while, the atmosphere heavy, like the last moment of quiet before the storm. Bellamy feels it will shatter if he dares to breathe too loud.

 Clarke breaks it first.

“Are you ok?” She asks, careful.

“I’m fine.” He answers automatically and one of her hands come to rest on his shoulder.

“Bellamy, it’s ok to be scared. It was a rough night.”

“No, I just – I need to be fine. Octavia needs me to be fine.”

“You were when you needed to be, you were there. Octavia’s not here now, just me.”

 Bellamy exhales, hard, and lets his head drop on his hands.

“What if someone finds out? That boy knows something, I could tell.”

“Then we’ll deal with that, too.”

 Another minute passes before Clarke speaks again, slowly, as if she considered every word before saying them.

“I think it’s a good idea have Octavia stay with us. At the coven, I mean.” Bellamy’s head snaps up, eyes wide and betrayed. “She needs to calm down, Bellamy, and she needs to learn how to handle her powers under pressure.”

“And you don’t think she can do that staying here?”

“Not when she’s mad at you. Octavia got angry and set a house _on fire_ , Bellamy! She needs us!”

“That was the plan all along, wasn’t it?” He turned to face her, dislodging her hand still on his arm with the abrupt movement. “She was never meant to stay here. You just fooled us into thinking she would!”

“Of course not!” But even as Clarke says it, Bellamy can see the way she cringes, the downward curve of her lips. “I knew it was a possibility, yes, but I hoped this would work out. But if tonight proved something, is that this is not enough!”

 Her words made their way through his skin, inside his veins, all the way to the marrow of his bones like glass shards.

 Not enough. Not enough. _Not enough_.

“Get out, Clarke.” Bellamy’s voice is stoic and ice-cold.

“Bellamy, don’t be like that.”

“GET. OUT!”

 The blonde girl raises from her seat and hesitates for a moment before stomping out of the living room towards Octavia’s bedroom.

A few minutes later, Clarke comes back with Raven and Octavia, a backpack slung over the shoulder of his sister and Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her so he looks at O instead.

“If you tell me not to go, I won’t.” Octavia says and her voice is so small it makes Bellamy’s heart shrink to the size of a grain of sand.

“It’s alright, O,” Bellamy doesn’t know how he manage to keeps his voice even and soft, but he’s thankful to any and every deity that he does. “It’s only temporary.”

“It isn’t,” her voice cracks and her eyes fill with water “I’m a freak, aren’t I? So they need to supervise me all the time.”

“It’s not like that,” Raven tries to say, but Octavia cuts her immediately:

“Shut up!” and all the windowpanes shake violently in their frames.

“Listen to me, no one can take me from you. You just need some training, but whenever you want to come back, I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

 Octavia throws herself in his arms, full-bodied and fiercely. Bellamy holds her because this is what he’s been doing for the last fifteen years of his life and he would do it for the rest of it too.

“I love you, big brother. I’m so sorry.”

“I love you too, O.”

 

 

 Bellamy’s never one for lying in general, let alone lying to Octavia. But, as it turns out, when he told her whenever she wanted to come back he’d be there, it was a big fat lie.

 He just didn’t know it at the time.

 Three days, two drunk nights and five missed calls from Clarke later, Bellamy opens the door to the most bizarre out-of-season Halloween costumes ever. Three guys – he thought they were guys, at least – wearing white hazmat suits are standing at his doorstep at nine am sharp.

 There’s an awkward pause where Bellamy just stares at the weird trio, brows furrowed, and tries to figure out what exactly he should say to them besides _what the actual fuck_ before everything just goes to shit.

 The funniest thing about it it’s that they actually _waited_ for him to answer the door to fill his apartment with a gas that makes his eyes tear and his lungs burn. _Polite_ , Bellamy thinks.

 He doesn’t go down without a fight, of course not, and Bellamy manages to slam into one of the guys and bash his head against the wall before the others get him in a chokehold and squeeze until he blacks out.

 One against three in a room where you’re the only one without a mask for the toxic gas in the air is never good odds.

 The only thing on his mind as his vision swims and he claws at the protected arm is that, if Octavia ever comes back, he won’t be there to answer the door.

 

 

 Next thing he knows he’s kneeling next to four other men, all chained by their necks like him. Bellamy realizes he’s collared – they all are, like dogs --, and the metal bites his skin and chokes him. The only sound echoing in this dark, unrecognizable place is the rustle of his struggle.

 The air smells vaguely of bleach and rust. Breathing, Bellamy finds out, still hurts from the toxin he has inhaled.

 How long has it been since he was abducted? Where the fuck is he, anyway?

“Turn up the water pressure,” a metallic voice crackles through speakers. Bellamy’s eyes dart up to the source, but before he can identify it, ice-cold water hits him in the face, hard.

 It washes all over his body with bruising pressure and leaves him shivering and struggling to breath.

“Perfect. Now take them to the chambers. I’ll warn Dr. Tsing they’re ready.”

 People prod him until he’s standing and Bellamy doesn’t have the energy to fight back, even if he screams at the top of his lungs.

 A syringe finds a pulse point in his neck, and once again the world turns black.

 

 

 Bellamy drifts in and out of conscience, only enough to hear fragments of conversation, not enough to have a real grasp on what’s going on.

_His vitals are good_

_His physiology seems normal_

_Hand me the scalpel, please_

 It really doesn’t sound promising, though.

 

 

 He wakes up upside down, with needles in his arm and the worst headache he ever felt. It’s like his eighteenth birthday hangover times a hundred.

 It takes a moment before the ringing in his ears subside and Bellamy realizes he’s in some type of medical facility – a very unorthodox one if the way he’s hanging like a piece of meat in a butcher shop is any sort of indication.

 Everything hurts and aches. There’s nothing in the room apart from the annoying beeping machines he’s connected to and himself.

 He reaches for the tie around his ankles a couple of times and manages to lose them a little, but not enough to drop him yet. So Bellamy counts the passage of time through the beeps, figures out how many per minute, eventually finds a pattern (twenty).

  Finally, around five hours later (six thousand beeps), someone shows up.

 It’s a woman with dark hair and an even darker look in her eyes, prodding him, reading the machines and writing everything down neatly in a clipboard.

 His first instinct is to hoar, demand to know where he is, scream until he has no voice left, but the silence is a battle and Bellamy’s not intending to lose so early. So he watches.

“Tough one, I hear,” she says, softly, as if striking a casual conversation, “let’s see if you can help us, huh?”

 When he doesn’t respond, she just hums under her breath.

“It’s good work we’re doing here. It’ll help a lot of people.”

 Bellamy merely regards her, stubbornly silent.

“I don’t expect you to understand.” The doctor shakes her head, “Your blood alone won’t be enough, of course, but once we get your sister –”

 That gets a response out of him.

“You won’t touch her!”

“And who’s going to stop me? You, sweetie?” She asks patiently, as if talking to a child, “Don’t worry, Bellamy Blake, we just want to understand how their DNA’s are different from ours. The others didn’t survive, but I’ve got a good feeling about Octavia.”

“I will kill you,” he spits as she measures his blood pressure and her answering chuckle is low and frosty.

“I’ll be sure to have security with me, then. Can’t have you hurting yourself before we get enough data.”

 She takes her clipboard, crouches until she’s eye level with him and smiles. Bellamy has to bite his tongue to keep from screaming.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, they’re already coming for you. It won’t take much longer.”

 She leaves swiftly after and even the awful beeping noise fades into the background against the drum of his heart beating.

 

 

 The next time someone comes in, he’s ready.

 While he was left alone, Bellamy worked on the fastenings holding his feet until he could wiggle out of them. He waits, as patiently as he can, until the door – hermetically sealed, security card protected – opens again.

 The doctor lets out a yelp before he smothers her mouth in his hand.

“Glad you didn’t bring security, doc,” Bellamy all but growls behind her, “this will be a lot quicker like this.”

 He considers snapping her neck – Bellamy bets it would break in two neatly -, his hands are placed just right to do it too.

“I should kill you like I promised,” he barks through gritted teeth, “but I think this will be fitting too.”

 She struggles fruitlessly against him when Bellamy throws her over his shoulder and straps the ties against her ankles, tight enough to bite the skin there. Then, he drops her, feeling wicked satisfaction bloom inside his stomach when she sways, lightly, upside down.

“Take me down right this moment!” The woman shouts. “You’ll pay for it, Bellamy, you and your freaks are all going to die. Don’t you get that?”

“Desperation suits you.”

 She keeps screaming, but Bellamy doesn’t worry about it. He simply goes through her pockets until he produces the security card.

“I’m going to leave you to reflect about your wrong doings, Doctor” he checks her name on the card “Tsing. Hope you rot here.”

 He’s wearing nothing but the ugliest white briefs he’s ever seen. Bellamy sort of wishes there was a hazmat suit in the corner he could don, but there isn’t, so he ducks out of the lab anyway.

 

 

 Whatever Bellamy was expecting to be waiting for him outside that lab – and he had many creative theories -, it wasn’t _that_.

 Even if at first it looked like it would be.

 He ran down the aisles and rows of sterile silver corridors trying to find a way out of there. There are no windows, of course, and Bellamy gets the distinct feeling that this must be underground, so he’s looking for a way _up_.

 Bellamy passes through many locked doors, finds a few other people kept in similar conditions, mostly worse for wear, and he wonders how long they must have been there. He cuts them lose every time.

 Most are too weak to walk and Bellamy promises himself he’ll come back for them. One woman, though, quickly rises to her feet, raw determination written on her face.

“Are you alright?”

“Alright enough to go. Let’s _move_.”

 Under regular circumstances he might have been annoyed by her ungratefulness– or amazed by her endurance, to be honest  -, but right then he only nods and keep moving. The quicker they get out, the better. Bellamy can introduce himself later.

 Together, they map practically the entire floor. The damn thing is a maze and Bellamy feels that they are being played like rats.

 Then an explosion shakes the walls, sends him careening on his side. It’s the first of many.

“What is that?” The woman asks, before the same raucous noise sounds again, closer this time.

“It’s our way out of here. C’mon.”

 Bellamy runs, test his cards on more and more doors, until he finds the stairs.

“Here, I found it,” he hollers over his shoulders and the girl reaches him. “Be careful.” He adds when the structure shakes again with a powerful _boom_ while they climb the long flight of steps.

 When they get to the surface, the facility is in ashes. There’s fire burning everywhere, the ceiling was blown away and the walls were now nothing but piles of rocks.

 The sky above them is dark gray and crackling with energy that every so often shoots lightning bolts that feed the fires. Wind hits Bellamy in the face like a slap, hard and unforgiving, and whistle as it blows past. It’s like the whole world is angry and seeking revenge.

“Stop that or I’ll never give him back.” He hears a man shout furiously in the distance, so that’s the direction he runs to. Bellamy’s body, weighted and slow with exhaustion before, is running on adrenaline and fear, so he presses forward. “You can’t bring him back from the dead, can you?” The voice taunts.

“Try me. I promise no one will be able to bring _you_ back.”

 Bellamy would know that voice anywhere.

 It thundered inside his skull, rattling his teeth: Clarke, Clarke, _Clarke_.

“Clarke!”

 He steps out in the nick of time to see her – this glorious ablaze version of Clarke, clear three meters up in the air, wild hair whipping her face, eyes white and burning – crack the man’s neck with a flick of her fingers.

“Clarke!” He yells again, louder, getting her attention this time. The moment her eyes land on him, they turn blue again.

 The staggering _relief_ that settles over her face makes his chest expand.

“Bellamy,” her voice is so soft and low, Bellamy hardly knows how he hears it.

 He doesn’t notice the wind has stopped assaulting them and the sky’s clearing until Octavia lunges herself against him and he wraps his arms around her firmly by instinct.

“You’re here, you’re safe.” She mutters against his shoulders as if she can barely believe it. “I thought I lost you.”

 He tightens his hold against his sister and takes his eyes off the blonde slowly easing back to the ground, looking more girl and less goddess by the second.

“I thought I lost you,” Octavia whimpers again.

“I’m fine, O. I’m right here.” Bellamy lets himself burrow his face in her hair and take a deep breath. “I was so worried about you.”

“You were worried about _me_? Bellamy, do you have any idea—”

“Woah, calm down, Pocahontas,” Raven says, getting closer with a beam so bright it could light up the world, “let your brother breathe, alright?”

“Fuck off, Raven,” Octavia laughs, a bit choked.

 Bellamy finally notices how many people are around the now-destroyed building.

“What…?”

“Clarke,” is Octavia’s only answer.

 The girl in question reaches them at last, disbelieving look still on her face, staring at Bellamy like he’s the one that’s magical.

“Bellamy…” She mutters his name like a prayer and Bellamy almost falls apart right then.

 When Octavia lets go of him and Clarke takes her place, her arms snake around him shakily where Octavia was tight, hesitant where his sister was fierce.

“I was so scared.” She breathes out in his ear.

“Everything’s fine, Clarke.”

  It’s when he holds her close and tangles his fingers in her lose curls that his body remembers just how _drained_ Bellamy actually is and he sags against her a bit.

“Let’s get you out of here,” she says, soothing.

“No, we can’t –”, he struggles to say, “There are others there, Clarke. They’re weak, they…”

“It’s alright, they’ll take care of them.”

“Who’s they?” Bellamy asks, but he’s drowsy. Octavia slots himself under one of his arms where Clarke takes another and they all but carry him away towards a car.

“Shhh, we’ll talk later.”

 He falls asleep the moment they drop him on the back seat, with Octavia still curled like a cat around him.

 

 

 Bellamy wakes up, startled, gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles whiten.

 It takes him a few shuddering breaths to realize he’s lying on his own bed and there’s no metal collar around his neck. Besides him, Clarke’s blinking owlishly, wide blue eyes focused on him intently.

“How are you?” Her voice is a bit raspy from sleep and Bellamy has trouble finding his own voice inside his throat. She covers one of his hands, prying his fingers from his vice hold and rubbing soothing circles on his skin until he settles back down.

“I’m fine,” Bellamy says automatically, “just a nightmare.”

 Clarke levels him with a steadfast glare, exasperation lurking on the corner of her eyes.

“Bellamy, stop.”

 He sighs and rubs a hand on his face. The motion makes him realize he’s shaking slightly.

“It really was a nightmare.”

 Clarke seems to understand he’s not just talking about his dream.

“It’s over now, you’re home.”

“I am,” he repeats, mostly to himself, savoring. Then, “Where’s Octavia?”

“Sleeping, last time I checked. She barely had any sleep since you disappeared.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t. Your sister did. Worst storm in twenty years, or so I hear.” There’s a wry grin dancing on her lips and Bellamy ducks to hide his own. Still, the pause between them is tense. When he glances up, Clarke’s studying him, almost as if debating her next few words. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He doesn’t know how true his words are until he’s saying them. “You did what you thought was best. And it _was_. I don’t want to think about what might have happened if Octavia was here when – Yeah, you were right.”

 They never take their eyes off each other and it’s – well, awkward, to be honest, but it’s also good. Clarke squeezes his hand and Bellamy notices she’s been holding it all along.

“Octavia can come back. If she didn’t kill everyone in this city after this, I think we’re out of the woods.”

 Bellamy snorts and squeeze her hand back.

 His eyelids are still heavy and droopy, every muscle sore, and it’s hard to stay awake, even if he wants little more than keep looking at Clarke. Her cheek is propped up against his pillow, hair a blonde halo of frizzy curls around her head. She looks so good Bellamy wonders if he’s still dreaming after all. He could really get used to the sight of her next to him in his bed, it’s doing funny things with his heartstrings.

“Go back to sleep.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“Don’t worry,” She says, gently, reading the fear in the lines of his frown like words on a book, “we’ll all be here when you wake up.”

“You better,” Bellamy concedes grumpily, but closing his eyes nonetheless.

“It’s a promise.”

 If she sounds too solemn, he doesn’t have time to wonder, because sleep washes over him, sweet and welcome.

 

 

 Bellamy’s filled in the next day.

 He was taken by what witches have been calling Mountain Men for the better part of a decade. Officially, there were called Mount Weather Institute of Genetic Research, an institution backed by the government. In reality they were taking witches and doing all sorts of tests, trying to locate which genes give them their powers, trying to replicate it.

  _Weaponize_ it.

 Octavia felt it, knew instantly something was horribly wrong – all the plates in the coven shattered and now they’re all eating at Bellamy’s, since it’s basically his fault. He grumbles about it and glares half-heartedly at the crumbs in his couch, but everyone knows it’s just for show.

 Clarke called her mother, Raven said. Abby Griffin, the head of the northern coven, then called everyone she knew. The mountain didn’t expect one simple guy, orphaned and poor, a nobody, really, to bring more than thirty witches to their doorstep.

  _Silly them_ , Harper says in a breezy voice, one which sometimes meant her words were prophetic, _Bellamy is the key to everything_.

 So he sits in his living room, eight witches around him, arms wrapped tight around Clarke, and eats banana pancakes while watching Brooklyn nine-nine and finally, _finally_ , it feels like things could be right again.

 Octavia tiptoes around him until he calls her out on it. From then on, she is right back at being a brat. It helps.

 One morning he wakes up to his sister hauling three bags of stuff back to her old room. He complains about the mess she’s making and Octavia gives him a toothy, unrepentant grin.

 Sometimes he has trouble to breathe and feels as if the metal collars are biting at his skin again, ice-cold water slapping him, but, somehow, Clarke’s always there, Clarke always _knows_. Her fingers in his forearm a warm reassurance.

 

 

 Eventually, he tells Clarke everything.

 Of course, intellectually, Bellamy always knew he would tell her, at some point, even if every time he tried the words got stuck in his throat, sticky and bitter. He _wants_ to tell Clarke in the same way he wants to share everything with her – yes, it’s troubling -, but it’s like he’s physically unable to. So he waits until it doesn’t feel like that anymore.

 But if anyone asked, when Bellamy thought about it, he imagined himself telling her at night, when the lights are off and the world is quiet, _theirs_.

 He really didn’t expect to blurt it out in her bright sunlit kitchen on a Thursday afternoon, the last day of his medical leave from work, but that’s precisely how it goes.

 Clarke listens intently, like she’s concentrating on every single word, her brows set in a deep frown. She doesn’t say anything while he’s speaking and Bellamy doesn’t try (much) to fake nonchalance. He doesn’t even know how to.

 Some things are harder to say. He finds himself breezing through being doused in freezing water and yanked by the neck, his fingers immediately reaching for the new jagged scar on his ribs when he speaks of flashes of memories, of tests and surgeries. But the threats Dr. Tsing made, the gut-wrenching fear of Octavia or Clarke, or any of their friends, being captured, subjected to that, to the state he found others… That brings a lump to his throat that chokes his words when Bellamy says them.

Clarke’s face remains carefully blank, apart from the crease between her brow that he wants to smooth with his thumb, but her hand finds his against his ribs and the soft, gentle touch makes Bellamy feel like there’s a livewire under his skin.

“I want to see it,” when he’s finally done and it’s Clarke’s time to speak, her voice is rough and a little bit wrecked. Her tone is as firm as ever, though. “Take off your shirt.”

“If you want to see me naked, Clarke, all you gotta do is ask.” Bellamy teases, but this time Clarke doesn’t smile. She just waits for him to lift the hem of his shirt until the bruised skin is visible. Her fingers are trembling ever so slightly when she traces the raised contours of the suture with the very tip of her index finger, the frown on her face deepening. Then, the glasses of the windows and cabinets explode into millions of tiny glass shards that shower over them, but not one touches Bellamy’s skin.

 Clarke’s head snap up in surprise, as if she wasn’t the one to do it in the first place.

“Seriously, Clarke?”

 She seems dumbfounded for all of a moment before glaring at the broken glass – the shards immediately flying back to where they belong until the glass panes glistens in the sunlight, smooth and perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says in a small voice, “this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“It’s ok.”

“No, it isn’t. Bellamy –”

“Hey,” his voice is pitched low, soothing, and he puts his hands over Clarke’s shoulder, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re _not_ , you always fucking _say_ that.” Bellamy doesn’t recoil from her angry outburst, but his hands move from their spot, tracing her clavicle, brushing past the blonde strands until he’s cupping either side of her jaw.

“And you always know when I’m not,” he agrees, easy “but I’m here now. Everything is fine.”

“I want to kill them all,” she seethes, blue eyes sparkling grey for a split second.

“You already saved me.”

“Not early enough,” she counters, stubborn, but the pads of his fingers are stroking lightly at her neck and goosebumps are erupting on her arms, on her spine, making the fine hairs stand on end. It’s hard to keep the anger in her system when his touch is so overpowering.

“You did great.”

 Something snaps in Clarke and next thing she knows her arms are wrapped around Bellamy, tight and desperate, her entire frame pressed against his front. She’s shivering from the panic bubbling in her throat – how _close_ had it been – and it feels like nothing in the world can comfort her the way his scent does, his solid chest moving steadily with every breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke breaths out, blinking the unwanted moist in her eyes away quickly.

“We’re going to be ok.” He murmurs against her ear, hot breath warming her skin before he presses a kiss against her hair and Clarke allows herself to relax against him, welcomes the feeling of being wrapped up in him. She nuzzles her nose against his neck, resisting the urge to sink her teeth in, just to prove to herself he’s real and fine and _there_.

 Bellamy moves just enough to settle her in his lap, playing with the ends of her hair. They stay like that for only God knows how long, until Octavia comes barging in after classes, loud as always, and halts at the doorstep.

 Her expression softens for a fraction of a moment before a smirk curls her lips upwards.

“Took you two long enough,” she says before haughtily flipping her hair over her shoulder and stalking away.

 

 

 Next Halloween Clarke comes home from a rather nice dinner with her mother – despite the ever-present stiffness between them, things warmed up after Abby’s help at Mount Weather – to find Bellamy lounging on the couch dressed as a bat watching Brooklyn Nine-nine.

 The girls are out at a costume party, but Clarke and Bellamy didn’t have plans to go, so it’s unexpected, to put it mildly.

“Nice costume,” she chuckles, lightly, getting rid of the strappy heeled sandal that has been torturing her feet for hours, “decided to go to the party?”

“Nope,” Bellamy pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously, the way Raven likes to do, and grins, open and infectious at her. “This,” he motions to himself dramatically, “is all for you.”

 Clarke outright laughs at that, going to curl against his side on the couch. The costume, she finds out, is plushy and comfortable. He feels like a giant teddy bear. Shaped as a ripped _bat_ of all things.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” she says with mock exasperation, but coming out as fond. “Bellamy, why are you dressed as a bat?”

“Beside the fact that it’s Halloween?” He teases.

“Yes, beside the fact that it’s Halloween. It shouldn’t be a big deal for you anyway, every day is a witch day in your life.”

“True that, but remember when we met and you said I’d make a cute bat? I wanted to show you I’m actually a _beautiful_ bat.”

 Clarke laughs again and Bellamy grins so much she feels her chest warm up.

“You’re such a giant _dork_.”

“And proud,” he agrees, humming under his breath when he leans to press a soft kiss against her lips. “How was dinner with Abby?”

“One of the best we had yet,” she smiles back. But then a mischievous glint makes her eyes crinkle at the corners and she throws a leg over his lap, bracketing his hips with her tights. Her fancy blue dress rides up her legs, Clarke couldn’t care less. “But enough about my mom. This costume is _really_ working for me.”

“Really, Clarke? Bats?” He laughs, the sound like music to her ears.

“Definitely a kink. Or maybe it’s you.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy beams at her and licks his lips, his eyes darting briefly to hers, “maybe it’s me. I’m a cute bat.”

“Beautiful,” she agrees and leans down to kiss him properly.

 And she’s right. As far as Bellamy is concerned, every day is witch day and he hopes it is so for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> If you love the 100 come fangirl with me on [ tumblr ](%E2%80%9Dpepperish.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D).


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